I hate rain, especially the feeling of rain splashing on my face.
To others, it's just a trail that disappears in an instant, but to me, it's a piercing pain that feels like needles and knives.
It's been hurting for eighteen years.
This pain isn't intense, but constant, following relentlessly.
Instead of enduring it, I'd rather have it swiftly done with a single blow.
Below the hill, the muddy and turbid water has formed a serpentine stream, with dead branches and leaves floating both inside and outside, creating a dead atmosphere. From the overflowing water, there are wisps of white mist rising.
Such a mountainous area has been named "Misty Rain Gap." It's said that every time it rains, this road, squeezed between two mountain ridges, becomes a deep crevice filled with misty rain.
The gap between imagination and reality is usually huge.
I float half a foot off the ground, enclosed by a simple barrier that keeps me in a world untouched by the water drops.
I'm waiting.
This place is not at all likable, yet I came without hesitation.
In the distance at the foot of the mountain, there is a lively splash of red, gradually approaching.
It's a bit unlucky to get married in such weather, but red is still red, and a joyous occasion is still a joyous occasion, not losing a bit of their splendor despite the heavens being unaccommodating.
The sounds of joy are loud and clear, and the musicians bob their heads. They are drenched from head to foot yet loyal to their duty.
However, being too deliberately merry is always below standard and not quite satisfactory.
The procession is long, and everyone's steps are hurried. The eight-carrying sedan with a silver crown and black canopy has red gauze hanging outside, grand and majestic, incompatible with the desolation and decay of the surroundings.
Today is the second day of the second lunar month, with a spring chill in the air. The cold wind in the mountains seems to have lost its essence, behaving more like a wild, unbridled horse, charging in all directions. The sedan bearers are pushed back a few steps by a strong gust of wind, the sedan chair sways, and the curtains flutter, revealing half of the bride's exquisite wedding gown. I see those hands resting on her lap, tightly clasped. They are fair and delicate, untouched by trials and hardships. But my focus is not only on those beautiful hands like white jade, but also on the bracelet worn on her right wrist, which is colorless and transparent like water.
Many years ago, what I did most every day was to sit on the peak of Mount Fulong, watching numerous clouds pass by and birds and butterflies circling in the air. I even remembered the posture of every bird flying by, admiring their trails of freedom. I believed that if I could fly, I would fly more charmingly than any bird. Turns out, I was right. I jump down from the mountaintop, my fluttering robes lighter and more graceful than wings.
If the people below could see me, perhaps they would mistake me for a fairy who had strayed into the mortal world. Such a pity they cannot see me. I have concealed my form. Unfortunately, I am a tree demon, an existence that runs counter to the immortals. With the wind raging even stronger, I play a trick. Everyone's eyes are blinded by the wind and rain. In the confusion, I land in front of the sedan chair, reaching out my hand towards the curtain...
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